Maybe Holidays Aren't So Bad (aka Meanwhile, in Italy)
by Fluro-Green Skittles
Summary: What if Thomas went with Lord Grantham on a trip to Italy and met a man there? What if that man was Angelo Colasanto? Set before Immortal Sins while Angelo's still in Italy. Three-shot, M/M slash in second chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- I know the dates might not exactly match up but call it poetic licence. These are two of my favourite shows and, briefly, they both occur in the same decade. Thomas/Angelo :) M/M slash in next chapter. Don't like, don't read (or do because it's Thomas and Angelo, so how could you _not_ like it?)!**

**Also, being in Australia and one of those wierd people who watches things when they come on TV instead of streaming them, I'm about a season behind in Downton Abbey. I know a little of what's happened from FanFiction, but please let me know if I do something wrong e.g. use a character that's died...**

**Disclaimer I own neither Torchwood nor Downton Abbey. If I did, this pairing would occur!**

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The under-butler had, rather begrudgingly, accompanied Lord Grantham to Italy. Why his Lordship needed to go to Italy with less than a week's notice, god only knew. Thomas could only assume that it was a holiday, or maybe business (then again, what business would a gentleman from Yorkshire have in this part of Italy?). Thomas and Carson had been dragged along as staff. It made no sense to Thomas that one man required two of his own staff to accompany him, and frankly he was a little annoyed. He had never liked holidays, especially those in which he had to work.

The journey over had been treacherous. Thomas still felt a little queasy with motion sickness. He hadn't yet adjusted to Italian time either. Then there had been the issues with his Lordship's trunks. Placed in the wrong baggage hold, moved, lost found, mislabeled, corrected. Everything that could have gone wrong, short of them being sent to a different destination, had. And who had been the one to deal with it? The aforementioned, exhausted and frustrated under-butler. He didn't see that it made a difference where the bags were put, as long as they turned up in the right place at the end, but these things meant the world to nobility such as the Crawley's, and so he had spent an hour or two of his precious time sorting it all out. Now, to top it all off, he was being kicked to out.

On their arrival, it had been calmly explained to first Lord Grantham and then Thomas that there was only room for one extra member of staff. Being of lower ranking, Thomas was made superfluous.

'Turns out we don't need you after all,' his Lordship explained, grinning as though he had just told Thomas that Christmas had come early, 'so I'll pay to put you up in the inn down the road for the duration of our stay. You won't need to work, but there's no point in sending you back on your own. Treat it as compensation for bringing you all the way here. Call it a holiday!'

Thomas wasn't a fan of holidays, and definitely not if they were dictated by the length of his Lordship's stay and consisted of moping in a lonely inn. They weren't even somewhere famous like Milan or Venice or Rome, they were in some tiny village that nobody had ever heard of, where people were few and English was limited.

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An hour later, Thomas found himself sitting alone in a local bar, watching the light fade outside the window as the sun went down. He swirled the last of his drink around, watching it make patterns in the bottom of his cup as it caught the light, contemplating. His eyes scanned the room lazily, all but empty. A few old ment sat chattering away in Italian at the bar. Three woman giggled at a table in the middle of the room, looking at a collection of photographs. The bartender leaned lazily on his arm, dozing off every few seconds. It was all fairly normal. Tired and boring. Mundane. Thomas was about to give up on it all and head to the inn when he noticed another man, sitting at a table in the corner, alone in the shadows.

The man was obviously Italian, with the tan skin showing through his semi-opened shirt, the long dark hair that framed his face and his thin moustache. Thomas noted automatically that he was attractive, and then scolded himself for doing so. No more of that, Thomas, it's got you in enough trouble already. He couldn't help it though. Anybody who had ever been attracted to a man could see that this one was incredibly good-looking. And besides, as long as Thomas kept his thoughts to himself, what difference could it make?

It took Thomas a moment to long to focus n the man's face and notice where his eyes were directed. This was mainly due to the fact that Thomas' eyes were glued to the bare skin exposed on the man's chest, then travelling slowly lower until he caught himself and dragged his gaze back upwards. It was then that he saw that the man was staring at him.

The man watched as Thomas took another sip of his drink. He leant forward a little in his chair as the cup touched Thomas' lips. Perhaps he was a recovering alcoholic, Thomas thought, taunting himself by sitting in a bar watching other people drink. But no, there was an empty glass in front of him stained from a dark liquid that was definitely not water. Thomas licked away a stray drop from his bottom lip and the man's eyes shot to his mouth. After this, he adjusted his position in the wooden chair and the man's gaze shifted again, this time focused on the seat of the chair and the way in which Thomas was connected to it. Then he caught Thomas' eyes and was looking away in less than a second, hanging his head sheepishly.

Thomas smirked a little. It wasn't like anyone here knew him and he could be subtle when it suited him. Surely it couldn't hurt to try. He summoned the bartender over, rousing him from his almost-nap, and spoke in his most businesslike, authoritative tone. If the tone implied anything, it was _I have a meeting with someone _and not _I'm attempting to flirt with that incredibly attractive man in the corner_.

'Two of whatever he's having' Thomas demanded, pointing.

Two glasses of thick, brown liquid slid across the table, smelling strongly alcoholic. Thomas took a sip from one of them and stood still a moment, appreciating the burning warmth trickling down his throat, before making his way across to the mystery man's table and putting down the two drinks, being sure to give the other man the glass from which he had drunk to ensure a subtle connection. Their lips on the same glass was an excellent stimulus for Thomas' active imagination.

'Here, I got you another round.' He said casually, 'Thought you ould use some company.'

The man smiled and said nothing so Thomas continued, sitting down as he did so. He chose the seat beside the man instead of the one opposite him, not waiting for an invitation.

'What's a man like you doing here alone anyway? Don't you have a girl to get back to, or a thousand jealous friends?'

The man shook is head, his cheeks reddening.

'No, no girl. I don't mind. I like the bar at night. You meet some interesting people. And as far as my looks go, you exaggerate. By your logic, you should also be out with a girl, maybe two. Yet you are here with me, and so your logic fails Mr...'

'Barrow. Thomas Barrow. Feel free to call me Thomas though, I don't mind. And you are...?'

'Angelo Colasanto.'

Thomas grinned and took a sip from his glass. The name was perfect, and when Angelo said it, it rolled off his tongue wonderfully. The thick, melodic, Italian accent rung in Thomas' ears and he just wanted to hear more of it, so he started a conversation.

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They had been talking for a while now, mostly Angelo telling Thomas about the village and Thomas complaining about Yorkshire. They had made their way through their drinks and had ordered another round. Angelo was grinning widely and Thomas couldn't take his eyes off him. The tiniest crinkles appeared beside his eyes, little dimples by his cheeks. His hazel eyes swam with green and brown and Thomas was lost in them. He had stopped listening to the words the Italian was saying, just hearing the lilt of his accent.

'Thomas? Are you okay?'

The way that he said Thomas' name made his legs feel like jelly. Incapable of producing a voice that wouldn't instantly display his preoccupation and perhaps the reason behind it, the under-butler just nodded. Angelo looked around nervously and then, ever so slightly, moved his chair closer. Their legs were brushing together now. Thomas ould feel the heat from the other man's body. Angelo blushed slightly and looked away, saying nothing.

Thomas felt a little more certain now and placed his hand above the man's knee. It was too high to be viewed as a friendly gesture but light enough that he could claim it was an accident if need be, remove it quickly enough if the man began to shrink away. He didn't seem appalled by the touch, however. The secret smile that he shot across at Thomas suggested that he was pleased. Thomas let his hand relax so that the touch hd a little more force behind it, spread his fingers over the fabric of the trousers beneath them. Angelo's smile increased with the assurance that this was no accident and moved his chair in towards the table, forming the hand to slide up his leg. Thomas' hand was now dangerously high on the other man's thigh and it was _terribly_ distracting. He felt blood moving downwards at a rapid pace and hurriedly finished his drink.

'I think I should head back now, it's getting late.' Thomas began suddenly.

Angelo looked mildly disappointed and Thomas rushed to assure him that there was more to the statement. He dug into his pocket with his free hand and drew out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing it out, he revealed an address scrawled in Lord Grantham's practiced hand.

'Trouble is, I've had a little too much to drink and can't remember the way back to the inn.' This was a blatant lie. 'I have the address here. Do you know it?'

The Italian nodded and agreed to lead Thomas there. Thomas made sue to brush their hands together more than once on the walk over, to ensure that Angelo understood the implied meaning of the invitation. When they arrived, he nearly asked Angelo up to his room with no excuse, but anybody could hear, or the man could think his too forward, so he thought for a moment and then spoke slowly.

'It's a fair walk back, it wouldn't be fair of me to send you back immediately. Come up to my room and rest your legs for a few minutes first, we'll finnish up our conversation.'

Thomas knew this wasn't true. The walk was barely ten minutes and mostly flat ground. Angelo knew this as well as he did and both men were aware that the conversation had already come to a close. Nevertheless, Angelo followed Thomas up the stairs.

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**That's it for now. The next chapter should be up around next week, for those of you that don't hate M/M and aren't too young to read it- which should be everyone assuming that you all watch Torchwood ;) Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. If you see that I have no reviews, please rectify that. Thank you :D**

**-FGS**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Here's the next chapter. Warning for M-rated content. Not sure how it is, this is my first slash fic. Also, please don't be annoyed about religious stuff, I don't mean to offend Catholicism, as I am a Christian myself, but you can't not question the opinion of God in and Angelo fic. so I had to bring religion into it.**

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They were barely in the room a second before Thomas had the door firmly closed and locked and began heading towards Angelo. For once, things seemed to be going right and he definitely wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He advanced on the Italian with a predatory glint in his eye, backing him against the wall immediately to their right and placing his hands either side of the other man's head. The cool of the stone beneath his fingers grounded him, contrasting the feverish heat of lust that was taking control of his body. He tilted his head towards the Italian, stopping about halfway between them; waiting. Angelo quickly closed the gap.

Thomas grinned into the kiss, moving his mouth roughly against Angelo's with the force of a man starved. God, he had missed this. He felt wanted for the first time since the Duke and couldn't get enough. Thomas ran his tongue over Angelo's bottom lip and, after a moment of hesitation, the other man opened his mouth to grant him access.

Angelo lent his head back and moaned a little in the back of his throat as Thomas slid his tongue into his mouth and deepened the kiss. The sound sent shivers down Thomas' spine and he grabbed Angelo's belt buckles to draw him closer. He could feel the heat of the other man's chest as it pressed up against his own. His head was spinning, his heart pounding so loudly that he was sure the people in the next room could hear. He decided he didn't care about the noise as he felt another moan against his mouth.

He moved his hands deftly to Angelo's shirt. He didn't fumble as he undid the few buttons that Angelo had left done up, he was a professional after all. How odd that sounded in the circumstances, but it was true as he had been trained as a valet which consisted primarily of dressing and undressing other men, in a different capacity, of course. He ran his hands up and down the bare chest, the other man arching into his touch, and reached to slide the sleeves off his shoulders. Suddenly, the lips beneath his froze and drew away.

'What are you doing?' That accent, he could die!

_You, hopefully_- he didn't say it. This was no time to make light of it, the other man was afraid. Admittedly, Thomas was a little confused. Angelo seemed just as aroused. The confusion mingled with the delirium of lust to produce a stuttered question.

'Wh- What do you mean? I thought you... that is to say, don't you...? You want this just as much as I do.' This last was stated.

Thomas looked pointedly at the matching bulges in their trousers as if to emphasise his statement. Angelo, moved back in a little closer to Thomas, his resolve beginning to crack.

'I've never done this before.' Angelo told him (Thomas had already figured that out), 'Aren't you worried that someone will hear us or find us or... doesn't t bother you that I'm...'

'Italian?' Thomas joked.

'No!' he turned his face away, speaking to the ground, 'a man.'

Thomas was about to reply when he noticed Angelo glancing at a bracelet on his wrist. He reached down and gently picked up Angelo's hand, brining it up to eye-level so that he could examine the object. It was a simple piece of jewellery, a leather strap adorned with a small, roughly-cut metal cross. It glinted in the light as Thomas tilted Angelo's hand and he finally understood.

'If God didn't want us to be like this, He wouldn't have made us this way. If He didn't want you to be with me, He wouldn't have brought me to you.' Thomas kissed the back of Angelo's hand before letting it fall lightly back to his side, 'and besides, if your God doesn't like what we're doing, haven't we already moved out of his favour? I don't believe He judges, but if He did, would He judge us any more if we continued? It's just one night, Angelo, and you want it just as badly!'

Angelo thought a moment and then raised his head and looked into Thomas' eyes, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his lips.

'Shall we continue?' The Italian nodded.

The two melded quickly together, lips crashing into each other and tongues moving like a dance. It became difficult to tell whose lips were whose, which tongue belonged in which mouth and which mouth belonged to which man. Thomas slid the shirt from the other man's shoulders and heard no objection this time. Instead, Angelo removed Thomas' shirt in response, his hands shaking as he slid the buttons out of the buttonholes, obviously far less practices and more than a little nervous.

Thomas slid his hands down from the wall and into Angelo's back pockets, letting his hands mould to the shape of him and drawing him closer still until their hips were bumping together. Their groins touched, eliciting a moan from Angelo followed, when the movement was not repeated, by a whimper. Thomas replicated the action, this time thrusting his own hips into Angelo's, and revelled in the sound he received. It wasn't long before Angelo was grinding against him, bringing his knee up between Thomas' legs, and the Englishman was becoming equally as vocal.

Their mouths were still connected, but less active now, just breathing roughly against each other's lips, tasting each other's breath. Angelo tasted like alcohol and cinnamon, Thomas was drowning in it. Never drawing them apart, every inch of exposed skin still touching, Thomas backed them toward the bed, turning to lay Angelo onto it first and then spreading himself on top of him. He began to kiss his way down Angelo's neck and chest, deligting in the trail of red marks that he was leaving behind, a mark of himself, and then moved his way back up, returning briefly to Angelo's lips before raising hiself onto his forarms so that he could look down at the other man.

His hair was tousled and his face was flushed. He was breathing heavily through a half open mouth, shiny with saliva that may or may not have been his own. His eyes were half-lidded for a moment, but he opened them when he noticed that Thomas' ministrations had ceased. Thomas stared into the eyes of the man beneath him and, for the first time, noticed the dash of red across the white.

'Your eye...' he said, half questioning.

'I know its not perfect but it's always been there. Nothing like your eyes I know, it makes me ugly, but please ignore it.' he was practically begging, panicked.

Thomas ran a hand down Angelo's cheek. He had closed the affected eye now, embarrassed, and Thomas bent to kiss his eyelid lightly. The eye opened again and Thomas stared down at it with unashamed awe. It really was beautiful and truly unique.

'Don't think like that. It's lovely.' he ducked his head and placed a fleeting kiss on Angelo's lips, 'you're lovely, and it's a part of you.'

Then they were back to the kissing, stoking their hands across each others bare chests in the limited space between them. Angelo, in a bout of unexpected forwardness, moved his hand lower to rest on Thomas' thigh, then back up, brushing his knuckles across sensitive skin through the thin material of his trousers before undoing them. Thomas slid them down and kicked them off. Angelo flipped them over and Thomas' trousers were quickly followed by his underwear.

Angelo wriggled down Thomas' body, leaving occasional kisses on random parts of his chest as he past them, coming to rest with his head between Thomas' legs. He looked uncertainly up at Thomas. Thomas nodded encouragement and Angelo relaxed, taking Thomas into his mouth. It was indescribable, nothing like the Duke who had always been so selfish and hurried. Thomas pressed his head back into the pillow, bucking his hips forward and groaning Angelo's name. Thomas put his fingers in his mouth to stifle the noise and swirled his tongue around them while he revelled in the pleasure of it. Soon, he could feel that it was about to be over and pushed Angelo away so as to prolongue the experience.

He whimpered involuntarily at the loss and Angelo opened his mouth to complain, but Thomas silenced him with a finger to his lips. Silently, he rolled over on the bed so that Angelo was once again beneath him. He swiftly removed the remainder of the other man's clothes, throwing them down to join his on the floor. Thomas shifted so that he was straddling Angelo and kissed him deeply for a moment, stroking his hands down the other man's back and coming to rest on his behind. He moved his tongue into Angelo's mouth at the same time as his finger entered the Italian, hoping that the kiss would distract him from the pain. Angelo gasped.

Thomas took his time with this. He moved his finger slowly until the other man was used to it, then faster. He added another and, in time, another. As he grew more confident, he angled his fingers differently, hitting just the right spot and driving Angelo wild. Thomas was growing more aroused himself and could barely hold back. A few more seconds and he was removing his fingers, replacing them with something more significant.

Brining Angelo's legs up around his shoulders, Thomas pushed into Angelo. Angelo gasped at the pain and bit down hard on Thomas' shoulder. _That's going to leave a mark_ Thomas thought gleefully. He was still for the longest few seconds in history while he waited for Angelo to adjust. He started kissing him deeply and Angelo groaned into his mouth.

'Just _move_! Please!'

Thomas was happy to comply. Repeatedly, he thrust his hips forward, speeding up and achieving a steady rhythm. After a while, he altered the angle of his thrusts and Angelo groaned his name, elongating the vowels deliciously. Thomas kissed his shoulder, reaching down to stroke him in time with their movements. A few more thrusts and both men had reached their climax. It didn't surprise Thomas, really, that it was all fairly quick. It had been so long for him since another man had wanted him in this way.

He lay beside Angelo for a moment, his arm draped across the other man's chest, and then the Italian was getting up from the bed, stretching his stiff muscles and pulling on his clothes. Thomas felt cold and a little rejected as he heard Angelo mutter a prayer. Making his way to the other side of the room, Angelo left without a word; never looking back.

Thomas watched the door close, leaving him alone in an empty room, lying on a cold bed. He fell asleep in the knowledge that he may never be lucky in love.

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**Sorry, a little rushed at the end there. I've never written this stuff before and I'm not very good at it :/ oh well, hope it wasn't too bad and hopefully the next chapter redeems me :D**


	3. Epilogue

**A/N Here's the epilogue, a look at a scene in Immortal Sins from Angelo's perspective. Please not that Jack is awesome, I love Jack, so anything that may come across as semi-anti-Jack is merely to suit the purposes of the story.**

'Turn out the light, we'll talk 'til we fall asleep.'

Jack's American accent drifted across the room to Angelo and he almost obeyed without question. Then he processed what the man had said and was confused.

'Don't... you want me to go.'

This wasn't what you did. You didn't stick around. You didn't treat it like it was normal, but that wasn't what had Angelo hesitating. He was thinking back. He was wondering if he should have stayed before, when he wanted it more than he did now.

Jack's voice cut through his thoughts. 'Turn out the lamp', so he did. Angelo lay down beside Jack and he asked about his eye. He remembered Thomas staring at it with awe. _It's a part of you_. He explained that he was born with it.

'Have you ever done this before?'

'No.' he looked across at jack and images of Thomas sprung into his mind. He could still imagine what he looked like, what he smelt like, what he felt like. 'The other part, yes, but this part... no' He could still hear the door shutting behind him, remember spending the night in his own bed and wishing he were still back at the inn. He wondered how Thomas would have reacted if he had stayed. What would it have been like to wake up beside him?

'Who was your first?'

Angelo didn't hesitate.

'A boy from my village, in secret.'

He didn't know why he said it. It seemed to make more sense. It was less personal. The Yorkshireman was still playing on his mind.

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**That's all, let me know what you thought (otherwise I'll think I'm the only Torchwood/Downton Abby fan in the whole world :( F-G S **


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